Désolé
by windywaker
Summary: The RED Sniper and the BLU Spy are polar opposites. Spy has a hatred in particular for the RED bushman, but after certain events unfold on the battlefield of Teufort, will that change? (Bad summary, rated T because it's Team Fortress 2.)
1. Chapter 1: Trigger

He shifted his hefty rifle into position and stared down the scope, pointing the weapon's red laser at the back of the unsuspecting BLU Heavy's head. The target turned and realized what was happening, but it was too late. His fate was sealed. With one slight squeeze of the trigger, the heavy-calibur bullet was sent flying through the air and into the bulky Russian's skull. Brain matter and blood splattered all over the ground around his target. The man who pulled the trigger smirked, muttering, "Thanks for standing still, wankah." He moved the rifle away from his eyes so he could scope out the battlefield. RED Scouts were jogging their way into the BLU base to recieve the intelligence, but they were being quickly taken out by sentries and Heavies. The Sniper clicked his tongue quietly and noticed a BLU Engineer fiddling away with a dispenser. Quickly, he re-scoped and moved the crosshairs over the little yellow hardhat. With a pull of the trigger, the man was splattered over the wall beside him, coating the dirt and metal with crimson. The Australian pulled away from the scope and said, "That was a might easier than I expe-"

A cold, sharp pain ripped into his spine, causing a shriek to fall out of his mouth. Blood quickly seeped through his clothes and dripped to the ground as he fell, landing face-first in a puddle of his own gore. He managed to turn his eyes up to his attacker-the BLU Spy. "B-Bloody spook.." he managed to choke out. The Spy did not respond and kept an emotionless expression as he ripped his butterfly knife out of the bushman's spine, causing another scream of pain. His vision began to blur and fade, and just before death, he heard the Frenchman whisper, "Désole." The Sniper died with a look of confusion and anger on his rugged face.

Harsh, white light burned into his eyelids, forcing the Aussie to squint his eyes open. He groaned softly, unconsciously moving his hand to his forehead. What had that spook said? 'Désolé'? He scanned his extremely limited knowledge of French-He only picked up one or two phrases from his own team's Spy-but came up blank. He grunted in frustration, but he decided he wouldn't put too much thought over it. It wasn't worth his time, in his mind. He pushed himself off of his spawn point, a bench in the corner of the white-tiled room. Two or three resupply cabinets were shoved against the walls, and a large, metal roll-up door was on the wall across from him. He sighed and looked around a bit before sitting back down. His head was throbbing and he didn't want to leave just yet.

'Désolé'? Seriously? What was he thinking? The now-cloaked BLU Spy slapped his hand to his forehead and shook his cranium begrudgingly. Why would he apologize to that disgusting, piss-chucking, outback Australian? He didn't even know the man. He had an obligatory hatred for him. He was the enemy. He was the RED Sniper. In fact, he had a special kind of hatred for the man. Whenever he was given the chance, he would drive his trusty butterfly knife deep into the man's spine. He had probably killed that bushman more than anyone else on the RED team. He wasn't sure why, but he never questioned himself. There was no reason to.

The Administrator's aged voice rang out across Teufort. "We have captured the enemy intelligence." His gun, the Ambassador, became charged. He smirked and delved his way into the RED spawn area. He was the only BLU to make it here yet; however, there was only one mercenary here besides himself. The RED Sniper. He had his head shoved into his hands, and it seemed as though he hadn't noticed him yet. The Spy walked up to the bushman and cocked his pistol, holding it up to the man's head. He ripped his head out of his hands and met eyes with the Spy, a look of confusion and terror mixed together on his countenance. Had he not heard the announcement that his team had lost? The Spy held his finger to the trigger, but something was stopping him. Maybe it was that the man was defenseless. Maybe he was feeling merciful. But whatever the case, he lowered his gun and sighed. "Your team has lost. It appears as zhough you did not hear ze Administrator," he mumbled, turning to exit the room.

"What's to stop ya from puttin' a bullet in my head, spook?" The Sniper called after him, standing from the stainless steel bench he was perched upon. The Spy did not respond; he simply exited the spawn area, cloaking as he did so. It appeared as though the covert Frenchman did not know the answer himself. He disappeared off into the battlefield, leaving the other man alone with his thoughts.

**A/N: Alright, so that's Chapter 1. Sorry that this is so short, I didn't realize how short it was until now. Please review so I can improve with the next chapter (if you guys want one). Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: Goodbye

**A/N: So here's chapter two! Thanks for the reviews, I wasn't sure if I should continue the fic or not, but I will now. Here we go! **

His gloved fingers reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a silver zippo lighter engraved with the name of some poor man whose back met his butterfly knife. He flicked the top off with his thumb and ignited the lighter, lighting the tip of one of his cigarettes and perching it on his lips. He closed his eyes and puffed smoke from his nose. The sun was setting and Teufort began to change from sweltering heat to cool evening breeze as the sky tinted a deep maroon. The smoke from his cigarette drifted off into the twilight air as he let out a sigh. Something was wrong with him. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. Why hadn't he splattered that RED's brain matter all over the walls of his spawn room? He always killed the man when he had the oppurtunity, so why not then? Why not when he was most vulnerable, when he couldn't fight back?

The crunch of gravel behind him snapped him out of his thought process. He turned quickly with his Ambassador drawn. It was only his team's Soldier. He sighed lightly of relief and reholstered his gun. "What is it?" He called to his teammate, tapping the ashes from the end of his cigarette.

"Listen up. The guys are in the mess hall having a couple of beers. They told me to come and get you." The Soldier grumbled, standing with a perfect posture before him.

"I apologize, mon ami, but zhere is zomething I must attend to before I can indulge in alchohol for ze evening," the Frenchman replied, turning back to stare out at the sun setting over the New Mexico desert.

"What might that be?" the midwesterner inquired with a booming voice. He readjusted his helmet that was just too big for his head.

"No, I suppose it wouldn't be. However, the business I am attending to is, how do you say, private." The Spy turned again to face his conversational partner. "I apologize." He pressed a few buttons on his invisiwatch and disappeared before the Soldier's eyes, skulking away into the shadows toward the RED base. As he left, he could hear the Soldier cursing under his breath. Of course, the Spy would have enjoyed a bit of social time with the rest of his team; he just had something more important to deal with at the moment. He entered the RED base through the basement, ignoring the tempting briefcase of intelligence placed gingerly on a desk nearby. He scaled some stairs and came up to some rotting wooden platforms that led into their living quarters. His cloak was running out of juice fast. He had to act quickly. With swift feet he danced across the platforms and into the long wooden hallway, opening up his disguise kit. He scanned through every possible disguise carefully. Which of these RED fools was that bushman closest to?

He could hear footsteps approaching from not too far away. Hurriedly he pushed a random button and phased into a puff of smoke, and then into the dress of the man he was disguising himself as; the RED Engineer. He looked down at himself and then back up at the direction the footsteps were coming from. Of course, the one to turn the corner would be the bushman he came in here looking for. He stopped in his tracks and met eyes with the disguised Spy. "Oy, what're ya doin' out here, Engie?" He inquired, folding his arms.

"Oh, me? Why, I just thought I'd come and visit ya, Sniper," the Spy responded, trying his best to mimic the mechanic's southern drawl. He squinted a bit under the dark goggles, praying the Australian wouldn't see through his disguise. He had never been this nervous about anything.

"Oh, alright then," he mumbled. He kept walking and motioned for the disguised Spy to follow. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and followed the taller man. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous; of course his disguise would not be seen through.

"Where are we goin', then?" He asked him, looking up at his yellow-tinted aviators.

"Well, before you came around, I was on me way to me RV," he replied. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "But come to think of it, I ain't had dinner yet," muttered the taller man.

"Then why don't we head on down to the mess hall?" The Spy suggested, trying his hardest not to revert to his French accent.

"You took the words out of me mouth," Sniper articulated as he turned down a corridor that led to, of course, the RED cafeteria. Spy observed his surroundings; the RED base was made entirely of wood spraypainted a bright red, the paint chipping in various places. There were crates in random places along the walls, probably full of weapons or ammo. Every now and again there would be a window looking into one of the rooms in the base. Spy looked into one and saw the RED Medic fiddling around with medical instruments, a dove splattered with blood perched on his shoulder. He averted his eyes from the window and continued sizing the place up, all the while trying not to look too suspicious.

The two crossed the threshold into the cafeteria, a small, shabby room with mismatched tables scattered around the room. Some were round, others were square or rectangular. Varying types of seats were at each table in random amounts; one table would have two seats, another would have five, and one would have three. The room was empty of any other mercenaries besides the Sniper and the fake Engineer. A tall white refridgerator stood against the wall opposite of the door, towards which the Australian approached. He cracked open the fridge and removed a box of pizza with some obscure logo printed on the top. The bushman removed a slice and offered it to the Spy, who refused his offer, saying he "ate earlier" (he hadn't). The other shrugged and bit into the pizza, not bothering to microwave it. He replaced the box into the fridge and made his way over to a table, motioning for the faux Engineer to join him.

"So," the Aussie mumbled, swallowing a mouthful of pizza, "How about those BLUs today?"

"Uh, I reckon they were just as good as any other day," the Spy replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I saw that BLU Spy tear into ya earlier."

"Yeah, that bloody spook has some sort a hate-crush on me or summit." He took another bite of his pizza, grimacing. "Y'know, earlier today, after we lost, he held a damn revolver to me forehead and didn't pull the trigger?"

"Is that right?" The Spy responded, trying to cover a frown as he remembered his moment of weakness.

"It is. I dunno what got into 'im. Typically, he woulda splattered me bloody gray matter all over the place," he resumed, chewing the last bits of his slice of pizza. "I didn't know him to be a merciful man."

"Me either, bud," the disguised sleuth replied, intertwining his fingers on the table. He wondered if he would get caught like this. The respawn system was off. If he died here, he'd be dead for good. He knew he shouldn't be here, he knew the risk, so why did he decide to come and seek out this marksman? He began to grow lost in thought.

"Oy, mate, will ye come out to me RV with me?" The Sniper inquired of the artificial Engie.

"Wh-what?" Spy choked, his voice cracking. He fell out of his southern drawl ever so slightly; he began to panic. His heartrate began to speed up. Had he been discovered over a careless mistake?

"You alright, mate? I just thought we'd knock back a couple a' beers," replied the Aussie, a worried tone in his voice. He hadn't caught his slip. His heartrate began to fall back to its normal speed.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Sure, let's go." He hadn't planned on drinking tonight, but he wanted to remain as 'in-character' as possible. They stood and left the cafeteria, leaving the room to its lonesome.

Two pairs of feet crunched the gravel below them as they made their way to Sniper's own artificial parking lot, a sectioned-off concrete area with a streetlight flickering above his RV. It was sectioned off with nothing more than some rope, tied together in a knot at the entrance area. Sniper ducked under the rope and signalled for the other to do the same. He took out some keys attatched to a crocodile keychain and unlocked the door to the vehicle, leaving it open for his friend to follow behind him. Spy followed, albeit a bit reluctantly. The van was fairly well lit once the lights were on; there was a couch built into the vehicle on the opposite side of the door, and two chairs and a table on the other side. Farther down on the rear end was Sniper's 'bedroom,' a twin-sized bed complete with two or three blankets and a few pillows. There was a shelf above it with various knick-knacks, a picture of his parents, an old scope or two, and a signed photograph of Saxton Hale. Chuckling a bit, he turned his attention back to the Australian, who was rummaging through a mini-fridge set behind the 'dining room' area of the RV.

"'Ave a seat, will ya?" Sniper requested of the spurious Texan, who complied, and took a seat at the cushioned chair next to the small table. He looked out the window to the left of him at the looming RED base. Some of the windows were lit up dimly, some with silhouettes of the RED mercenaries dancing over them. Spy looked back at Sniper who had sat across from him and slid a beer over. He grabbed the beer and popped off the top with his thumb, a trick he taught himself when he was disguised as a certain drunk many years ago. He held his beverage out to the other, who compliantly tapped the neck of his bottle to the Spy's. "Cheers," he chuckled, turning the bottle to the ceiling; the other followed suit. They sat this way for a while, idly chatting about the weather, or the recent battles on Teufort, or the prettiest girls they've seen around downtown, whatever they could come up with to pass the time.

After a few bottles had made their way to the crate Sniper used as a trashcan and a few conversations passed, the two were both fairly drunk. Spy's trained mind kept him naturally still close to his sober state, so he was still relatively sentient; however, the same could not be said for the Australian, who was whistling tunes from his favorite childhood TV shows, his face almost as red as his clothing. Spy shrugged; the bushman was drunk. He wouldn't remember anything he said or did tonight, just that he got shitfaced with Engie. The only striking memory of tonight would be the crippling hangover he would have the next day. Might as well just go for it.

"Sniper, there's something I have to tell you.." The Spy shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably, still unsure if he should tell him about his disguise.

"Yeah, what is -hic- it?" The sharpshooter said, smiling widely as he took another swig of his beer.

"Today, in the respawn. Zhat Spy who decided not to shoot you. Zhe man who, after all Zhis time, has had such a deep hatred for you. I want you to know Zhat it is not hatred, but admiration." His faux southern accent began to melt away as well as his Engineer disguise. He stood from his seat, fully uncloaked and undisguised before the Sniper. "You won't remember me undisguising myself tomorrow. You'll just assume you were drinking with Engineer. Zhat's why I'm telling you Zhis." He stared into the eyes of the other, who was dumbfounded.

"Why go to all this -hic- trouble? Disguisin' yaself, sneakin' into me RV. I coulda bloody shot ya, had I figured ya out before now. In fact, I started to get pretty suspicious earlier when ya freaked out when I asked ya to come out here for some beers." The Sniper ranted at the BLU Spy, who stood there patiently, listening.

"To be honest, I don't quite know. It was stupid. Foolish. I should not have come here. I just felt zhat you needed to know why I did not shoot you today and why I have been treating you zhis way for such a long time. I do not hate you, monsieur. I am very aware zhat zhis war is meaningless. I have no grudge against any RED mercenary. But you..." He paused, scanning through his mind to find the right words. "I have a certain.. Respect for you. Unlike me, you kill from afar, but just as effective. A swift stab to zhe back, a hurdling bullet to zhe brain, what is zhe difference? Both kill fast. Both kill efficiently. You and I may be enemies, but I assure you, I would be honored to be in combat with you." He finished, idly lighting a cigarette and placing it on his lips. He missed the familiar breath of nicotine in his lungs; disguising himself as a non-smoker was not fun for him.

"Ya've stabbed me in the back more times than I can count, I'll admit," The Sniper stated, seemingly sobered by the compliments from the BLU. "But I've seen ya runnin' around, slicin' up me teammates like they ain't much more than sushi. The respect you have for me, well, it's mutual," the man contemplated, swigging his beer. "Hell. Why don't you swing by again sometime. This might just be the beer talkin', but you're a much better drinkin' buddy than Engie," he chuckled, finishing his beverage and tossing it into his trash-crate.

"As I said, monsieur, you will not remember zhis ever happened when tomorrow comes. Zhis is purely me clearing my conscience. If you really do want me to come here, undisguised, into zhe RED base alone at night when respawn is off to drink with you..." He stopped, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I gladly would. I'll make you a deal. Repeat zhis phrase to me tomorrow on zhe battlefield. I will write it down on a piece of paper, and if you can remember what it's for, we'll have another drink." He took out a neat stationery card and a jet-black fountain pen. He scribbled onto the paper, 'the two hardest things in life to say are hello for the first time and goodbye for the last.' He then handed it to the Australian, who skim-read it and stuffed it into his vest pocket.

"Bit cheesy, aren't ya, mate?" He laughed, glancing at the mini fridge. He wondered if he should have another beer. Probably not.

"Well, I've already said 'hello' to you for zhe first time tonight, and zhis may be the last time I say zhis, so it properly applies," he mumbled, reaching for his cloaking device. "Goodbye." He pressed a few buttons and fled out of the RV.


	3. Chapter 3: Ache

**A/N: this took such a long time because, right when I was about done with the chapter, my laptop literally ate the file. I don't know what happened. I can open it and highlight the length of what would be the words, but there aren't any words. It's so weird and I'm really upset. Here's (the rewritten version of) chapter 3.**

Sniper awoke to a jolting pain rippling through his cranium, causing him to hold his hands to his forehead. He let out a groan and squinted his eyes. He had a migrain, there wasn't a doubt about it. He forced his head to let him pull himself to where he was sitting upright in bed, and looked around the RV. There was an open crate half-full of empty beer bottles behind the driver's seat, which at first seemed unfamiliar; however, he soon remembered why he had the migrain in the first place. He had been drinking with Engie. Sighing heavily, he stood up, letting the covers fall; he felt a shiver rush through him as he realized he was only in his underwear. He groaned again and shuffled through a small dresser near his bed, pulling out a fresh pair of pants and a vibrant red button-up shirt. He pulled on his clothes quietly, and as he moved, he browsed through one of the few cabinets he had for a bottle of aspirin. He was in luck, and pulled out the half-empty bottle of pills, popping a few as he continued getting dressed.

Once he was finished sliding on his clothes and his trademark vest, hat and aviator shades, he slipped into his bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth. Afterward, He rushed out into the main area, glancing at his watch. 7:30. The battle started at 8:00. He had to find a nest to snipe from in about 30 minutes. He shrugged; he'd had less time before. He snagged his keys off of the table and fled from the vehicle, making sure to lock the door behind him.

He had chosen a tall, abandoned church belltower overlooking Teufort's desert battlefield, and had managed to get there about 10 minutes before the fighting would begin. There were cobwebs knitting all around the room, covering up old storage crates, boxes, and barrels. He pulled a few crates directly up next to a window; one for a makeshift seat and the other to hold his various jars of urine (which he swore was called "Jarate") and his favorite coffee mug that read '#1 Sniper'. He still had a few moments before the battle began, so he got himself situated; he placed his rifle, the Bazaar Bargain, on the window sill, and glanced through the scope to make sure he was targeted right where the BLUs would no doubt come from, their own base. And now, he did what he did best; he waited.

After a while, Sniper could hear the definitive fire of bullets ringing in the hot New Mexico air, causing him to peer through his scope. He noticed the BLU mercenaries beginning to march their way out of their base, already opening fire on what must have been the RED team below. He breathed in slowly through his nose and concentrated. His crosshairs locked onto the BLU Soldier's helmet, and with a pull of the trigger, he sent his target tumbling to the ground in a wave of blood. He quickly transitioned to the next target, an unsuspecting Engineer clanking away at a sentry, and sent a bullet through his head. He repeated this process with nearly everyone on the BLU team, except the Spy, who he hadn't seen yet; this was normal.

Sniper pulled the trigger to end the life of a Heavy who was unloading bullets into his friends, but heard nothing more than a click. This was his cue to reload. He reached into the pocket of his vest, but rather than meeting the cold metal of a bullet, he felt.. paper? He pulled out the suspicious slip and read it. 'The two hardest things to say in life are hello for the first time and goodbye for the last.' He squinted as he read and reread it time and time again, trying to remember what it was for. His headache gradually returned with every syllable, so he stopped shortly, looking away and stuffing it back into his pocket. Almost in an instant, he felt the room shift. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew something was wrong. He grabbed his kukri and turned around swiftly, pointing the knife out into the seemingly empty room. "Who's there?" He called out, even though he was almost positive who it was.

The Spy decloaked, his weapon already drawn and aimed for the other's head. He was smirking, for some reason, which began to eat away at Sniper's nerves. The Spy's grin grew wider as he inquired, "Do you remember?" This question caused Sniper's face to curl up in confusion. Remember what? He processed several different thoughts at once, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the other's. Suddenly, he felt a blast of memories and pain, causing him to clench his hands over his eyes. He had been drinking, but not with Engineer. He was drinking with the BLU Spy. He groaned a bit, trying to knock out the sudden return of the migrain he had earlier.

"Bloody hell," he managed to spit out after a moment, "I can't believe I've been drinkin' with the enemy. Looks like I owe you a beer." He scoffed and pushed his hat back a bit to run his fingers through his short hair. The Spy chuckled a bit more heartily than before and sat down on a crate by the room's entrance, lowering his weapon.

"Glad to see you remember, mon ami," the Spy admitted happily, sliding out his disguise kit to retrieve the ever-so-taunting cigarette from its metal prison. "Got a light?" He inquired, gesturing to his unlit cigarette. The Sniper reluctantly removed his hat and pulled a matchbox from its lining, tossing it to the other. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Frenchman; after all, he hadn't blown his head off while he was so drunk he couldn't see straight. Still, it was a bit difficult adjusting himself to making friends with the enemy.

"So how can I know I trust ya?" Sniper asked after a moment, keeping his eyes astray from the Spy. He heard no response at first and thought he had left, but a creak from the crate the other man had been sitting on said otherwise. The Spy had gotten up from his seat and walked over to the Australian, leaning dangerously close into his face.

"Listen to me. I have killed countless men, stolen incomprehendable amounts of enemy intelligence, fooled bouts of women into zhinking I am someone I am not. But if zhere is anyzhing in zhis godforsaken world I am NOT, it is unfaithful. Do not mistake me for one of your untrustworthy heathens you call teammates." He flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his feet and turning to leave. With a few clicks of his invisiwatch, he was gone, leaving the Sniper alone to his thoughts.

The battle wore on tirelessly, Sniper putting a stopper to every poor BLU's heart that managed to find their way into his field of view. Still, he didn't manage to get a clear shot as much as he could on any other day. The Spy's words kept replaying in his head, like a broken record player. At the end of the day, RED had lost. He had not seen Spy since he had spoken to him up in this belltower; he did not come back up to kill him after the end of the fight. He made his way back to his base after the BLUs had gone home, too tired to reassure his teammates.

He was sitting with his legs propped up on the dining room table when he heard a knock on the door, causing him to rise from his seat and go see who it was. With a gentle 'click', the tumblers in the door unlocked to reveal his own RED Pyro, standing with his arms folded. "Huddah," The Pyro said after a moment. Sniper looked at him confusedly, trying to decipher what they were getting at. "Huddah, huddah." They pointed at the empty space behind the Aussie who quickly put two and two together.

"Oh, you want to come in, then. Fine, I don't see why not." He held the door open the rest of the way, allowing the shorter rubber-clad person to enter, sitting down with a plop on the couch across from the door. Sniper turned around to push the door closed and lock it, but when he turned back, he nearly jumped out of his own skin. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Sniper exclaimed, trying to recollect himself. "Don't bloody do that, ya-" He took a deep breath and sighed as the Spy burst out into fits of chuckling.

"Ahahah, hah, mon ami, you should see your face! Bahahah!" He wiped a tear from his eye, folding his left leg over his right one. "Did you not expect me to come tonight?"

"Well, to be honest, no. It looked like I pissed ya off when ya took off earlier," Sniper mused, taking a seat next to his newfound friend, whose face was now recollected and serious.

"You did not. I get asked zhat question so frequently zhat it bozhers me to no end, but trust me, I am not offended." Spy puffed on a cigarette that he had lit moments ago, blowing the smoke politely away from his conversational partner.

"I still feel like a shithead for even askin' it, ta be honest," Sniper mumbled, running his hands over the back of his head subconciously.

"Do not feel bad, I don't hold it against you." Spy tried his best to be reassuring, patting Sniper's back.

"Whatever ya say, mate," Sniper replied quietly, scanning through different conversation topics quickly. "Oh yeh, you still want that beer?" He inquired, getting up to walk to the fridge.

"Non. I'd razher be sober tonight." Spy sat with his legs crossed and his arms folded, cigarette balancing precariously on his lips, his eyes trained on the other, who plopped back down onto the couch and propped his feet up, sighing and folding his hands behind his head. The two spent a few hours talking about whatever came to mind, be it the battlefield or otherwise. The clock ticked on, marching through 9, 10, 11 PM, and on into the morning hours. Eventually, while Spy was telling one of his favorite stories from when he was a young boy living in Paris, he heard soft snoring falling from the other's lips. He chuckled a bit and picked him up, carrying him over to his bed and placing him in gently. He tossed a blanket over his sleeping friend, and took off his aviator shades, placing them on a nearby shelf.

"Goodnight, mon ami," he whispered, leaned in close to the Sniper's ear. He stayed in that position for just a moment, barely breathing at all, leaning over the other man's sleeping form, listening to his soft breathing. Time slowed slightly, and for a minute, he lost himself. He quickly snapped back out of it and turned to leave. Did he really just have to repress the urge to place a kiss on Sniper's ear? He mentally slapped himself on the forehead as he pressed a few buttons on his invisiwatch, disappearing off through the RV door and into the night.


End file.
